Blood Bonds
by ILikeMovies
Summary: Tag 4x09 "After". Carl and Rick have managed to escape the prison with Michonne at their side. Rick is gravely injured and Carl is blinded by misplaced rage. When Michonne wakes to find Carl missing and Rick in a coma, will she be able to survive the night? And will Rick and Carl live to fight another day? (My version of the episode After.)
1. Chapter 1

**Hello. So I haven't been on for ages but I'm back. So TWD finished with season 5 and I finally found time to watch it! It got me thinking about my favorite episodes. Basically I rewatched like the entire third and fourth seasons. I loved season 4 episode 9 because of the Rick whump. But it got me thinking: what if Michonne got out with Rick and Carl in the first plac? That would be interesting. Plus I can write Rick whump. Win-win.**

 **This is pretty much my twist on season 4 episode 9 with added Rick hurt/comfort.**

* * *

Michonne walks just behind Rick and Carl, her gaze focused on the broken man in front of her. He's barely able to stand upright, much less keep up with Carl who's setting the pace in front. Michonne fastens her pace slightly and gently loops an arm around Rick's waist. He staggers to the side, wheezing and shaking, and says, "I'm good."

The words come out as labored gasps and Michonne has to restrain herself from arguing. He's anything but good. The left side of his face is a mess of swollen bruises and blood and scabs making him hardly recognizable. His left arm is held tightly against his ribcage as though it's the only thing keeping him from falling apart. His left leg is a mess of mangled flesh and blood, a steady stream of red oozing out of the entrance and exit gunshot wounds and soaking into his jeans. Each step forward takes monumental effort and he's wheezing so loudly that Michonne half expects him to attract every walker in a ten mile radius.

"Okay," she says instead, backing away and holding her hands up in defeat.

"Carl," Rick calls. His voice is raspy and strained. Carl ignores him. "Carl, slow down."

Carl ignores Rick and keeps walking, purposely keeping his attention focused on the road ahead of him. Michonne glances at Rick as he staggers, barely able to correct himself. He's struggling and he's only getting weaker with each rushed step he takes.

"Hey," Michonne calls, "slow down, Carl. I can barely keep up."

Carl doesn't reply, but he does slow down just enough for Rick to keep up.

Carl just lost his sister and he's hurting - she gets that - but if they have any chance of survival, they need to stick together and work as a team. They're already one man down - Rick can hardly _stand_ upright, never mind fight off walkers - and cooperation could be the only thing that keeps them alive. They've already lost enough people, Michonne doesn't plan on losing any more.

There's a lone building in the distance and they walk towards it. No one says a word - the atmosphere is tense and weighed down by a sense of insurmountable loss. Carl hops up the rotting porch steps quickly, his small hands already wrapping around the handle of his gun. Rick struggles to climb the steps after Carl, but he refuses Michonne's silent offer of help. Michonne draws her katana, her sweaty hands slipping on the grip slightly.

Rick leans against the crumbling wall by the front door and turns to face Carl. "Stay out here, " he says, "keep watch."

"You keep watch," Carl argues, rolling his eyes.

"Excuse me?" Rick says, cocking an eyebrow at Carl.

"You can barely stand," Carl sighs, "you should just let me do it."

"I'll keep watch." Michonne says, noticing the determined look on Carl's face. He isn't going to let Rick have his way and the last thing any of them needs is an argument; it would attract attention.

Rick looks at her, nodding. She nods back, silently communicating a mutual understanding. Rick shoves the door open and rushes inside, his limp seemingly more pronounced than before. Carl rushes in after him and they split up despite Rick's insistent protests. Michonne stands at the foot of the stairs leading up to the porch. A lone walker stumbles out of the shrubbery across the road and staggers towards her. She sighs and nonchalantly pulls out her katana, takes a few steps forward and waits for the walker to near her. As soon as it gets close enough she swings the blade, cutting its head in half seamlessly. She wipes the blade on the walker's tattered clothing and sheathes it.

As she ambles back to the steps she hears a crash inside. She can hear Carl and Rick screaming at each other but she can't hear what they're saying. Then a gun goes off followed by a pregnant silence. Then more screaming. They're going to attract attention. She runs up the stairs and is about to scream at them but she is interrupted by the unmistakable sound of groaning behind her. She turns and stumbles back as she's momentarily taken by surprise. There's a group of more than twenty walkers crossing the road at a steady speed.

Shit.

She hurries inside, already pulling out her katana. She runs towards the screaming voices. "Rick! Carl!" She yells desperately, finally reaching the room they're in. A walker is lying on the floor in a bloody heap. Rick is hunched over, yelling at Carl. Carl is holding his gun up, still pointing it at the walker. There's an ax stuck in the walker's head.

" _Enough_!" She yells angrily.

They both stop screaming and turn to face her as she runs inside. Rick understands what's going on immediately. His face drops and he pulls out his gun. "How many?" He asks.

"Twenty," Michonne responds, "maybe more."

"Is there another way out?" Carl asks, calmly.

"No." Rick replies, gulping nervously.

Even though he won't admit it out loud he knows he's too weak to be of any help. Michonne won't leave him behind, though. They have to stick together because each other is all they have left and they can't lose each other.

"We go out front. Stay in formation." Michonne says, hoping her voice doesn't sound as shaky as she feels. "Rick you stay in back and take care of the rear."

"No, I - " Rick begins but he's cut off by the glare Michonne gives him. "Okay."

They quickly arrange themselves in a triangle and rush out the front door. Michonne can hear Rick wheezing beside her and she feels her heart break for him. The walkers are already making their way up the porch stairs. Michonne doesn't hesitate. She slices her katana through a walker's head, watching as the blonde hair and rotting skin falls to the ground beside the limp body in a pink dress. She does it again, and again, and again. She slices the walkers through the head and the stomach and the neck, her heart pounding as adrenaline rushes through her veins.

It feels like an eternity before Michonne realises that there are no longer walkers coming for them. They're all lying on the floor with giant head wounds and mushed brains. She can hear Carl panting behind her and Rick sounds like he's struggling to draw in enough air to breathe. She turns just as Rick collapses to his knees, gasping in pain. It scares her; she's never seen him so broken... so _helpless_.

Carl watches his dad collapse, a look of horror flashing over his dirty face. He leans forward instinctively to grab his dad but he retracts quickly as though he's touched hot coal. His face turns to stone once again and he shoves past his dad and storms into the building, a bag in his one hand and his gun in the other. Michonne watches him walk away in disbelief, shaking her head angrily. Carl's anger is going to get them killed if they're not careful. _Anger makes you stupid, and stupid gets you killed._

She helps Rick up, ignoring his agonized groan, and loops his right arm over her shoulders. She contemplates making an excuse for Carl's behaviour but she ultimately decides against it; that's not her excuse to make. Right now, it's getting dark and they only have another hour or two of sunlight to find shelter for the night. They can't stay in the house they're at - it's too exposed and it's surrounded by dead walkers stinking up the place.

* * *

By the time they reach a relatively safe house that they can use for temporary shelter and protection it's dark out and it's getting cold. Rick is walking without assistance but barely. He's going to collapse any minute. Carl is leading the way, a bag of food and water he found at the last stop in his hand.

"Here's as good a place as any." Rick gasps.

Carl turns up the driveway and stomps up the stairs. Michonne follows. Her feet sting with each step and her back aches and her head is pounding painfully. They all need a rest. Rick struggles up the stairs behind them, his face going red with the strain. He's barely breathing anymore - and that's if Michonne counts the desperate wheezes and gasps for air as breaths.

Michonne kicks the door in and takes point as they clear the house. Carl goes off on his own, but Rick follows closely behind. "Carl, stay with me." Rick says quietly.

Carl ignores him and heads down a thin corridor beside the staircase.

" _Carl_!" Rick shouts, clearly angry.

"I got it," Carl sighs, "all the doors down here are open."

"Just do what your dad says, Carl," Michonne interjects, "he knows what he's doing."

Carl's face turns red and he pounds against the dry wall angrily. His gaze is centred on Rick, daring him to make a move.

"Hey asshole! Hey shitface!" He screams as his fist pounds against the wall harder.

"Watch your mouth!" Rick yells back, his brow furrowing in anger and distress.

Michonne shakes her head, stepping forward and pushing past Rick gently just as Carl retorts, "Are you kidding me?"

"Carl, come with me; we're going to clear upstairs. Rick," she turns to face him and she gently places a hand on his shoulder. His gaze shifts and lands on her, his bloodshot eyes hardly able to focus on her. "You clear the rest of downstairs - kitchen, bathrooms, whatever."

Michonne turns and gestures for Carl to run up the stairs with a single flick of the chin. He sighs and does as he's told, glaring at his dad the entire time. Michonne follows him, gesturing for him to look forward with her hand. They creep into the nearest bedroom. Carl is immediately intrigued. It has a PlayStation and a television and books and Michonne imagines it as the type of room Andre would have had if he had grown into a teenager. She forces the thought out of her head; she can't afford to reminisce about the past. Carl hesitantly rips out the chord for the PlayStation and holds it in his sweaty hands. He heads for the door as Michonne carefully clears the rest of the room.

"Hey," she calls, stopping him in his tracks. He stops but doesn't turn. "Look at me quick."

Carl turns on his heels slowly, sighing in exasperation. Michonne takes a step forward and sheathes her katana. "You need to take it easy on your dad."

"Excuse me?" Carl remarks, stifling an irritated laugh.

"You're being too hard on him. He - "

"The prison is _destroyed_ , the people we love are probably _dead_... _Judith is dead_ because he refused to leave the prison. He decided he wanted to farm instead of defend the prison. He made us - "

 _"Hey!_ " Michonne whispers harshly. She cocks an eyebrow as Carl takes a step back, shocked at her stern tone. They're friends, but Carl needs more than just a friend right now, so Michonne has to break boundaries she doesn't want to break. "Your dad lost people, too, Carl. He lost the prison and he lost..." Michonne trails off, unable to finish the sentence. "He's already blaming himself and he's hurt. A little understanding would go a long way."

Carl shakes his head, turns and walks out the door without another word. Michonne sighs and follows him, anticipating the moment she gets to sit down and rest her aching feet.

It takes them five more minutes to clear the top floor and find anything useful. Michonne finds a clean shirt, blankets, a baseball bat and some comics for Carl. Carl finds more chords. They walk down the stairs slowly, trying to ignore the tense atmosphere that's filled the house. A thin sheet of dust has settled along the railing on the stairs and Michonne traces patterns in it with her finger as she descends.

They find Rick in the living room. He dumps food he's found on the floor and places knives on a coffee table by the couch. He's wheezing and his skin is pale beneath the bruises and blood. He looks up and his gaze meets Michonne's. She nods and drops her findings onto the floor beside the food. Rick nods almost imperceptibly. Carl shoves past Rick and uses the chords he found to tie the door shut. It's getting dark outside.

Rick bends down and starts pushing the couch towards the front door. Carl turns and says, "I've tied the door shut. It's secure. Shane taught me how. _Remember him_?"

Michonne watches as Rick straightens out as much as his damaged body allows. She's never met Shane but she has heard stories about him and what he did... what he tried to do. Rick narrows his swollen eyes angrily as he stares at Carl in a shocked silence.

"Yeah, I remember him and I remember him every day. Anything else you wanna ask me?" Rick snaps.

Carl sighs and moves out of the way. Michonne steps forward and helps Rick push the couch towards the door. They turn it right side up and Michonne takes a step back. Rick gasps and doubles over. His wheezing is the only sound that fills the room. He collapses onto the arm of the couch as he curls in on himself. Michonne watches helplessly, unsure of what to do.

They have no painkillers.

Her heart pounds painfully hard against her chest as she watches Rick struggle to stand to his feet. Rick picks up the bag of food and unsteadily lowers himself back onto the couch. He pulls out a packet of food and hands it to Carl. "You should eat," he whispers hoarsly.

"We should save it." Carl snaps back.

Rick stands up, gasping, and throws the bag at Carl. " _Eat_." He says. "Now."

He throws another at Michonne before limping out of the room on shaky legs. Michonne is starving but she places the food down and follows Rick out. She glances back at Carl and mouths the words " _stay here_ " before hurrying down the hall to the bathroom. Rick is inside, struggling to unbutton his shirt with his bandaged right hand. He can barely move his left arm enough to pull it out of the sleeves. He's unaware of Michonne's presence. He's wheezing louder and his face is contorted in an agonised grimace as he slips out of the shirt and drops it to the floor.

Michonne clears her throat and walks inside. Rick glances at her but makes no attempt to cover himself up. The shirt he was wearing hardly qualified as a shirt anymore anyway. The blue moonlight shining through the windows illuminates the black and blue bruising that covers the entire left side of Rick's chest. Michonne knows immediately what the problem is: he has a broken rib, maybe two. She just hopes he doesn't have a punctured lung. The broken ribs account for the terrible wheezing, though. Rick raises a trembling hand and wipes sweaty locks of curly hair out of his pale face.

Michonne leaves the room and fetches a bottle of water from the living room. Carl is sitting on the couch, fiddling with his hat. Michonne smiles at him and winks; Carl actually manages to smile back. She returns to the bathroom with the water bottle in her hand and she picks up Rick's ratty shirt to use as a cloth. Rick is leaning so heavily on the sink that Michonne is afraid he's going to break it.

"Sit." She says. She checks the cabinet for first aid supplies but finds none. "There's no bandages or disinfectant downstairs somewhere?" She didn't find any upstairs.

"No," Rick replies, "probably been taken 'ready."

Rick damn near collapses onto the toilet. Michonne gently wets his shirt and starts cleaning his badly bruised and swollen face. He winces as she wipes the dried blood off of the deep gashes and out of his thick beard. She can feel his shaky breaths fan over her neck as she works. It takes a long time for her to clean his face sufficiently. She keeps having to stop when Rick flinches and groans. It scares her that he's so weak and helpless.

Her gaze travels to his leg. She can see the wet fabric surrounding his gunshot wound. At least there's an entrance and exit wound. She gulps and says, "Take off your pants."

"No," Rick says, struggling to get to his feet. "Tomorrow."

"Now, Rick. We can't afford for it to get infected."

Rick nods in silent understanding and uses Michonne as leverage to lift himself to his feet. As his hands weigh down on her shoulders she is shocked at how shaky and unsteady he is. He's barely able to stay upright even with her support. He pulls away from her and unbuttons his jeans. He pulls them down and the dirty material he used to wrap the wound earlier falls to the floor. Michonne takes a deep breath.

She can't use Rick's dirty shirt to clean the wound. She can't risk it getting infected. _Shit_. Suddenly, a thought pops into her mind and she mentally kicks herself for not having thought of it earlier. She stands straight and asks, "Was there a linen closet or something?"

Rick nods and uses his trembling hands to gesture towards the general area.

She leaves the bathroom, turns left, finds it and rummages through the linen closet in the hallway until she finds a clean hand towel. She returns and wets the towel with the water. She takes another deep, calming breath, and she pushes Rick down so he's sitting on the toilet.

"This is gonna hurt." Michonne states flatly.

"Figured." Rick says, attempting to lighten the mood. It doesn't work.

Michonne first wipes away the blood that surrounds the entrance wound, barely daring to go near it. The skin itself is bruised and slightly swollen. As she nears the wound she feels Rick tense and his already labored breathing worsens. She forces herself not to look up and to continue working on the wound. As she starts cleaning the actual wound with the bloodied white towel, Rick grabs her shoulder and squeezes it tightly. It hurts but she ignores it.

They go through the same long, painful process on the exit wound. By the end of it Rick is so pale and sweaty that Michonne fears he might pass out. She runs a hand through his sweaty hair in an attempt to comfort him. She discards the bloodsoaked towel to the floor and stands up, her fingers pressed against Rick's neck. His pulse is fast and unsteady. Her gaze travels to his ruined shirt on the floor.

"Wait here." Michonne says softly.

She rushes out of the bathroom and fetches another towel from the linen cupboard. Then she hurries into the living room and grabs the shirt she found earlier. Carl is sitting on the couch, his face pale in the moonlight and his cheeks stained with tear tracks. Michonne leans down in front of him and runs a finger along his cheek. He sighs and wipes at his eyes furiously.

"He's gonna be okay," she says, "it's gonna be okay."

"You don't know that." Carl argues.

"No," Michonne sighs, "I don't, but you don't know that it won't, either."

Carl smiles and Michonne smiles back as she jogs out the room and returns to the bathroom where Rick is struggling to button up his destroyed shirt. He's managed to pull his jeans back on. Michonne shakes her head and hands him the clean shirt. He nods in silent gratitude and shrugs it on gingerly. "You're gonna have to take your pants off again." Michonne says.

Rick slips them to his ankles, gulping. He leans against the wall heavily as Michonne tears the fresh towel in half and wraps the one half around his thigh, pressing it tightly against the bullet wounds. She guides Rick's hand to it and orders him to press down hard. She tears his old shirt into thin strips and uses the strips to secure the towel bandage. It's a painful process and by the end Rick is trembling relentlessly.

He pulls his pants up with trembling hands and whispers, "Thank you."

He limps past her and heads for the living room. Michonne contemplates cleaning the bathroom up but she comes to the conclusion that there's no point. She follows him and watches silently as he sits on the couch beside Carl.

Rick glances around the dark room and says, "We sleep down here."

Carl shakes his head and fights, "Why? I want to sleep upstairs."

"No discussion." Rick hisses.

"Come on, Carl. Let's go get pillows and blankets - it's getting cold." Michonne says and she gently places a hand on Carl's shoulder as he puffs past her and storms up the stairs. Michonne takes a deep breath and tells herself to remain calm. She tells herself to be happy that there are no walkers.

At the top of the staircase Michonne whispers, "Whoever finds the most blankets and pillows gets to eat this." She pulls out a chocolate bar she found at one of the buildings they searched - she has been saving it for Carl.

Carl's face lights up and he nods excitedly. He spins and runs to the nearest room. She and Carl search the rooms frantically as they compete to find the most sheets and pillows. For a second, Carl seems happy and once they descend the staircase with their findings Michonne is positive she sees Rick smiling as he watches them hurry down.

She and Carl divide up the sheets and pillows as Rick makes sure the house is secure. Carl wins the chocolate bar but he shares it with Michonne. Rick returns and announces, "The house is secure."

"Walkers?" Michonne asks, wiping the back of her hand across her clammy forehead.

"None. The streets are empty," Rick replies, limping towards the window and slowly lifting the blinds away with a finger. He nods and drops the blinds slowly so as not to make any noise. "I wouldn't risk making any noise or light, though.

She and Carl set up makeshift beds on the floor beside the old couch. It's decided that Rick should sleep on the couch because he's too injured and sore to sleep on the floor. Rick argues but his efforts go to waste. He settles down on the couch, groaning and wheezing with each miniscule movement. Michonne settles on the floor and tries to get her tense muscles to relax. She doesn't let her mind relax, though, because she doesn't want there to be a spare second left for her to remember what she's lost - _who_ she's lost. Who _they've all_ lost. She knows that if she does she won't be able to pretend like it didn't happen. She will have to accept that they've lost everyone and everything if she allows herself to think about it. She's not ready to do that - not yet.

"I'll take first watch." She whispers, interrupting the heavy silence.

"No, I will." Carl says adamantly.

"Carl, I - " Rick begins, but he's cut off by Carl.

Michonne lifts herself onto her elbows and turns to Rick as he watches Carl. Rick's chest is rising and falling unevenly with each labored gasp for air he makes. She wishes she could find painkillers or sleeping pills or something - _anything_. She hates seeing him suffering.

"I'm not a child anymore, dad. Just because we lost Judith doesn't mean you have to treat me like I'm a baby!" Carl screams angrily.

Michonne flinches at his harsh words. She sees the regret wash over his face immediately. She wants to intercept, to tell them to stop fighting, but she doesn't know what to say. This is not her argument. Her gaze travels to Rick and she bites her bottom lip anxiously as he opens his mouth to respond. But he closes his mouth hastily as he's unable to find an appropriate response. Instead, he nods his head slowly, wraps his arms in the thin blanket Michonne gave him and turns so he's facing the ceiling.

Uncomfortable silence fills the room for a long time until Michonne turns to Carl and says, "I'll take watch."

" _I got it._ " Carl bites.

Michonne sighs and reluctantly tries to get comfortable on the makeshift mattress. She gently places her katana beside her and ensures it is in reach. She closes her eyes and listens to Carl's angry huffs and Rick's pained pants. Slowly the sounds fade and blur into a barely-there drone and Michonne lets the world around her turn to black as she welcomes the sleep beckoning her.

* * *

MIchonne awakes with a start. There's a scratching sound at the door by Rick's head and she recognizes the groaning immediately - there are walkers outside. She jumps up and grabs her katana. For a long time her attention is focused solely on the door and the sounds coming from behind it, and it takes her a good while to realize that Rick isn't waking up.

"Rick," she whispers frantically. If something happens and the walkers manage to get in, Rick is the closest and that means they'll get him first. " _Rick_!"

She sheathes her katana and frantically shakes Rick's broad shoulders in a desperate attempt to wake him up. He doesn't budge even as she shakes him so roughly that her own arms start to hurt. Her pulse is racing and she starts to panic.

 _What if he's dead._

She tells herself that he isn't, that Rick is invincible, but she can't shake the feeling that something is seriously wrong. She fumbles for a hold on his wrist and she desperately searches for a pulse. She can't find one.

She tries to find one by pressing her fingers against his neck, and she does manage to feel one but it's very weak and thready. Suddenly she realises she hasn't heard or seen Carl since she's woken up. She pivots on her heels and is about to call his name when she sees his makeshift bed empty, his hat and gun gone.

"Carl!" She whispers as she rushes out of the room and into the kitchen. She repeats his name over and over as she hurries into each and every room and searches it. She can't find him, which means he's gone and it's the middle of the night and there are walkers surrounding the house and Rick isn't waking up. She feels like screaming but she doesn't. Instead she gathers her wits and slowly climbs back down the stairs, collecting her thoughts and devising a plan.

Then she hears a scream, and she recognizes that voice anywhere. It's Carl. And it came from outside.

She rushes to the kitchen and shoves the back door open violently. There are no walkers by the back of the house. With her katana firmly in her grasp, Michonne rushes around the side of the house and towards the road. She spots a group of four walkers banging against the front door in a starved and brainless struggle. She runs towards them without a second thought.

The sound of her stomping feet attracts their attention and they focus on her. It takes her mere seconds to slice through their heads and spill their brain matter on the porch. In the moonlight their blood looks pitch black, and their skin seems white and ghostly. Their eyes are soulless and empty. Michonne stares at the limp bodies covered in decaying skin and ratty clothing.

The sound of groaning interrupts her thoughts and she turns on her heels as she searches for the walkers making the sound. She finds them in a clump in the middle of the road a few yards away.

"Carl!" She yells as she sprints closer towards them. It takes her only a second to plunge her katana into the head of the one zombie - a child with dull blond hair tied into pigtails. It takes her what seems like an eternity to behead the other zombie. Everything is moving in slow motion. She watches as the head of a zombie with gray hair and one eyeball fall to the ground, its teeth still snapping open and shut. She stomps on the head with the heel of her boot and his skull shatters as brain matter and blood splurts onto the tar.

"Carl." She whispers as she shoves the bodies aside.

She stumbles back in shock and horror as her gaze settles on a lone sneaker covered in blood that is discarded in the middle of the road, right by where the two zombies had been. She recognizes the shoe immediately. Her heart starts pounding painfully hard against her chest and her ears start ringing as her cheeks burn with anger and disbelief. Her hands are shaking. She drops the katana to the floor as her hands go slack.

It's Carl's... and it's covered in blood.


	2. Chapter 2

**Hi guys. Thank you for the support on my previous chapter. The reviews were amazing! And I appreciate the follows and favorites!**

 **Anyway, enjoy!**

* * *

 _Two hours earlier_

Carl sits on the makeshift mattress he and Michonne put together. Behind him, he can hear his dad's labored and uneven breathing. He's not sure why, but his dad's weakness only angers him and he huffs in frustration. Beside him, Michonne is sleeping peacefully, barring her occasional mumbles and groans.

Carl sighs and pushes himself to his feet. His body aches and his head is pounding. He glances at his dad, illuminated by the moonlight shining in through a small parting of the curtains. His dad looks even worse than he did only a few hours ago. Carl snorts, shaking his head.

 _Just when I thought you couldn't get uglier._

He lazily picks up his sheriff's hat, hesitating as he puts it on. The hat used to be his dad's, and he's angry at his dad. Frowning, he glances at his dad in the dark room. He huffs, knowing his frustrations and anger are ill-placed, but unable to stop himself from blaming his dad for everything that has happened. In fairness, he knows his dad isn't to blame for the fall of the prison, or the group splitting up... _Judith,_ but his dad is the closest punching bag for his frustrations, and that's going to have to be okay for now.

He jumps in surprise as the door rattles on its rusted hinges. His dad doesn't react at all, and Michonne simply groans and shifts position. There are two - maybe three - walkers banging at the door, trying to get inside.

Carl cocks an eyebrow and stares at the door. His hand slips around the holster for his gun, his fingers fumbling for the clasp. He gulps as his fingers curl around the cool metal of the gun, his heart thudding against his chest. Blood roars in his ears and, despite the slight chill in the air, there's sweat beading on his forehead and upper lip. "Let's see what you got." He whispers, his voice seeming so large and loud in the still room.

He turns and stalks towards the kitchen, where he knows there's a back door. Along the way, he can't help but peek at the remnants of what used to be a happy family: children's books, photographs and empty frames from which the memories were removed in a hurry, toys in the corners of the rooms. A sense of nostalgic longing grabs at Carl, but he forces it down, forces it down with the memories of his mom and of his sister. Tears sting at his blue eyes, but he makes no attempt to wipe them away - no one can see him, anyway.

He quietly sneaks out the back door and takes tentative steps around the boundary of the house. He stands on his tippy toes so he can see over the balcony railing. He was right; two walkers are mindlessly walking into the front door, blindly grasping at it. He smirks. _Two_? He can't take them, no questions asked.

"Hey, assholes," he calls.

He wraps his fingers around the gun tighter, but thinks better of using it. The walkers turn to face him and he gulps, nibbling his bottom lip nervously. He walks back, and suddenly he feels like he's falling in slow motion, his arms pinwheeling frantically. His back hits the tar road hard, knocking the wind out of him. He grunts as his head smacks against the road.

He squeezes his eyes shut, his face contorting in pain, and holds his hand up to his forehead. It comes away red, illuminated by the dull moonlight. Groaning, he struggles up to his elbows, squinting in the general direction of the walkers.

His head is pounding.

They're getting closer, slowly, but faster than he expected. He reaches down for his gun, but it's gone. He frantically scans the area around him, searching for it. It's only feet away but it seems like miles. As he scrambles for it, he glances over his shoulder, and just in time. The walkers are mere inches away, and they're gaining ground quick.

He tries to ignore the pounding in his head and the ringing in his ears as he reaches for the handle of the gun. His fingers graze it, barely, but suddenly a dead weight falls on top of him and he's wrenches away. The walkers are snapping at him. He cries out and desperately pushes them away, but they're dead weight on his tired arms.

"No, no," he cries, reaching out with one arm to grab whatever he can reach. He finds himself wishing his dad were there to help him, but he pushes the thoughts out of his mind. _No. I can do this_.

He wraps his fingers around a stick and he stabs it into the one walker's eye, gasping as hot, black blood pours out of its eye and onto his face. He groans and yanks the stick out, using it to whack the second walker's skull. The first walker is limp on top of him, acting as a shield between him and the other walker. He hammers the stick into the walker's head again, moaning in relief as he hears a sickening crunch. More blood spills out on top of him, but he doesn't care.

Hot tears mix in with the rotting blood on his face, and he whistles in victory.

Down the street he hears leaves rustling. Gulping, dreading, he turns and faces the direction from which the noise came. More walkers stumble out of the bushes, heading straight towards him. He has no fight left in him. He has a gun; he has a stick.

Taking a deep breath (a slightly shaky one, too, if he's honest) he heaves the bodies off of him as best he can. They tumble off his upper body but his legs are still trapped and the other walkers are getting closer. He cries out as his face goes red with strain, frantically crawling out from beneath the heavy weight holding him down.

He's out. His shoe is gone, but he's out. He scrambles for his gun and starts sprinting down the street heading nowhere - running, stumbling, crying. He's not sure where he's going; he just needs to get away from the walkers, from the house, from his _dad_. His dad who let Judith die. His dad who let the prison get attacked. His dad who is too weak - _injury implies weakness; that's what Shane taught him_ \- to even look after himself.

The tar burns holes through his sock, and he knows his foot is bleeding but he doesn't care. He knows he's going to have to stop and turn around eventually, but not yet. Glancing up at the full moon, he thinks, _maybe never._

* * *

Michonne picks the shoe up, her chest heaving as her heart pounds against it so hard and so fast that it feels like it might burst right out of her chest. She takes a deep, staggering breath, willing the lump in her throat away. She's hot and sweaty despite the cool night air. Blood pounds in her ears and the world around her is tilting and spinning. She feels like she's going to throw up. The shoe in her hand feels heavy and the blood dripping off of it seems like a never-ending shower.

 _Get a hold of yourself._

She takes another breath, this time calmer and deeper. Closing her eyes, she forces herself to count to ten. When she's done, she opens them and looks at the shoe in her land - small and torn and old. Nibbling her bottom lip anxiously, she calmly assesses her surroundings. There are dead walkers lying by her feet, their foul stench already floating in the night air. Michonne squints in the darkness at the black tar, trying desperately to make out what body parts belong to who. She almost collapses in relief when she realizes that none of the body parts are human - or, at least, they're all walkers; all the bones are covered in decaying flesh and rotten clothing.

Michonne laughs in utter relief. _Carl is alive._ Or, at least he wasn't killed by these walkers.

Michonne sheathes her katana and surveys her surroundings. She knows she's got a choice - either she stays with Rick and hopes Carl finds his way back, or she searches for Carl and hopes Rick wakes up and is okay. Michonne spends less than a second contemplating her decision. She knows what Rick would want her to do; she's going to look for Carl.

She looks left, up the dark road, illuminated by rays of moonlight breaking through the treetops. There's no sign of any life - alive or otherwise. She turns and looks right, down the dark road, but is met by the same eery lifelessness. Michonne purses her lips, looking up at the stars sparkling in the dark night sky. Taking one last deep breath, she makes one more decision - left or right?

 _Left_.

She turns and slowly makes her way down the empty street, twisting at every rustle of the leaves, tensing at every hoot of an owl in the night. She clutches her katana tightly in her hand, ready to strike.

In the distance she sees the outline of an illuminated house, and the door has been kicked open. She fastens her pace, crouched low, her gaze steely.

 _Come on, Carl_.

She tries to hop up the decaying wooden stairs as quietly as possible, but they creak with every step. The house is covered in dying ivy, giving it an eery atmosphere. She tiptoes inside, squinting to see in the almost pitch black darkness that fills the house.

Hesitantly, she whispers, "Carl?"

There's no response but she hears the sound of a glass shattering in a room upstairs. Her heartbeat quickens and she hurries up the stairs, no longer giving a damn about the noise. As she reaches the top of the flight of stairs, she hears the unmistakable sound of a hungry walker eating its newest kill. Her heart sinks and she rushes forward, narrowly avoiding a gaping hole in the floor. There's dried blood and scraps of material hanging on the jagged edges of the hole. She gulps, imagining the day when the hole was made as desperate scavengers tried to escape a hoard of starving walkers.

She pauses outside the doorway where the noise is coming from. She presses against the wall, listening and trying to gage how many walkers are in the room; from what she can gather, there's only one. Taking a deep breath, she dashes inside, immediately surveying her surroundings.

In the far corner of the room, a walker is huddled over something; blood is pooling beneath its knees. Michonne takes a deep breath and takes three long steps forward. With one brutal swing of her katana, she decapitates the walker, watching approvingly as the head bounces against the wooden flooring, spraying black blood.

The headless body collapses in a heap, and Michonne sheathes her katana. She pivots, slowly, on her heels, her eyes wide in anxious anticipation. The black blood from the walker is mixing in with the bright red blood of its kill. The kill is a heap of bones and intestines and blood. But it's not Carl, that much she can see.

She stands on trembling legs and glances around the room. The walls are painted a light blue and cartoons of airplanes and superheroes don them. On the wooden cupboards are drawings done by a toddler. Michonne takes a step closer, squinting in the dull moonlight shining through the large window. One of the drawings is of two stick men: a short one with the word 'me' written above it in untidy handwriting, and a tall one with the words 'Captain America' written above it. The tall one is holding what appears to be Captain America's legendary shield.

Michonne smirks, remembering her own son, but quickly forces the nostalgic thoughts from her mind.

She steps back, her hand pressed against her hip as she tries to stretch out the stiffness in her back. Her whole body aches. Her thoughts drift back to Rick, hurting and alone... _Dying_? She needs to find Carl and get back to Rick. She can't even imagine how Rick would feel if he woke up to an empty house, his son having all but abandoned him. She knows how she would feel.

* * *

Michonne sighs, limping towards the umpteenth house in her search for Carl. Her feet are aching and bleeding; she can feel the blood slowly soaking into her socks. She'll have to find a pair in one of the houses she searches.

As Michonne walks into the eerily quiet house, she stops and tenses. This house is as quiet and as abandoned as any of the others she's searched, but it's a different kind of quiet - the kind that's been recently disrupted.

Taking a deep breath, Michonne whispers, "Carl?" She is offered no response, but she feels like she's finally in the right place. Placing one aching foot in front of the other, she clears the downstairs rooms ( _come back for the tin of food in the cupboard in the kitchen_ ). The floors, unlike the others, are carpeted and silent under her slight weight.

She hops up the stairs, gripping her katana tightly, ready to act. At the top of the stairs, there's the limp form of what used to be a walker, except now it has no head. Michonne skips over it, smirking as she spots the decapitated head in the far corner of the passageway. The blood trail is still wet, which means it hasn't been there for long. Michonne can't prevent the relieved smile that tugs at her lips.

She sets her sight on a door at the end of the passageway. It's the only closed one, which she figures must mean something. She stalks towards it, silently counting to ten to calm her nerves. She takes another calming breath and kicks the door open quickly, suddenly, _loudly_. She rushes inside and raises her katana. As her eyes adjust to the lighting in the dark room, Michonne lowers her katana and stumbles back, laughing in relief.

She's met with an equally as ridiculous reaction: a furious scream and a raised gun.

"Carl, _thank God_." Michonne gasps in delight.

She sheathes her katana and takes a step forward, enveloping Carl in a tight embrace as he hesitantly wraps his own shaking arms around her. He's been crying and he hasn't slept if the dark bags under his eyes are anything to go by.

He steps back, glancing over his shoulder at the bed. There's a large tub of chocolate pudding sitting on the bed, a spoon resting on the rim. He shrugs, smiling weakly. "Want some pudding?"


End file.
